


Waterfalls and Whirlpools

by LesbianMonsterLover



Category: Monster Girls | Monster Boys, Original Work
Genre: Camp Nanowrimo, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Fantasy, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, High Fantasy, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Romance, Librarian Character, Long, Smut, fantasy meets modernity, later chapters, orc warrior, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianMonsterLover/pseuds/LesbianMonsterLover
Summary: Camp NaNoWriMo 2019A woman moves into a small town and discovers a diary at an antique shop that allows her to write and communicate with someone she can't see.  On the other side of the journal, Urzash Firetamer and her adventuring companions are about to go face the battle of a lifetime against one of the last dragons left in the world.  This story is about how they come together during these times.





	1. The Newest Face In Town

In an antique store in the middle of Perlston, Washington is a journal that’s surprisingly still empty considering the age of it. The cover is worn brown leather and the spine is stitched with faded jade green thread in the shape of some runic sigils that were meaningless to the shop owner. It sits in the glass front case where the cash register is, mostly just because of the age of the object but something in Walter Herrington’s gut told him not to shelve it with the collection of paperback bodice rippers in the worn old bookcase towards the furniture section.

Now, Perlston, Washington was not a big town. It was situated a few miles off of SR-18 on the edge of the forest. They didn’t get a lot of traffic from outsiders, with the exception of hikers stopping in to stock up before tackling the mountain trails ahead. A new face, therefore, was always big news. Erin Curett was the newest face in town, a librarian brought in fresh out of graduate school to take over for the old school librarian. 

Despite it being mid-July the air was still blessedly, the shining sun dappling through the canopy of trees leaving speckled patterns on the ground. Wiping the bit of sweat from her forehead with her wrist Erin swept the frizz of her red curls away from her face. Surveying the little house with a thankful sigh she closed the trunk of her car, the last of her things finally inside and mostly sorted. The last few missing things she figured she could pick up from the antique store she had passed on her drive in. 

Stepping through the green front door Erin toes off her shoes and pads through the front hall to the living room. Grabbing a bottle of water on the way through the kitchen, she sighs thankfully as she slumps down onto her favorite overstuffed sofa, a trusty companion through two graduate programs and three moves. “Coffee table…” she mumbles to herself, beginning a mental list of the big things the house would need. “Coffee table, bedside table, ah fuck I need some drawers too don’t I. Shit…” 

Capping the bottle of water, Erin faceplants into the couch cushions, stretching out over the piece of furniture. She briefly debates taking a nap before rolling off the couch heavily onto the blue carpeted floor. Standing and brushing off her shorts she turns on the television, thankful to have set it up earlier so all she had to do was find something to watch before getting to work. 

Building bookshelves was a relatively easy task, although a little unwieldy for one person. That was the first thing Erin did in every house, without fail. Well, the second, after getting her bed setup, but she usually had help with that either in the form of movers or delivery people. She found the process of setting up her shelves somewhat meditative though, and she found she preferred things in a just-so way, likely a manifestation of her anxiety. At least according to her therapist. With the first of the shelves setup she begins moving books from one of her sets of boxes out onto the shelf. 

Organizing home books by the Dewey Decimal System is overkill to most, but it means that everything has a home and is easily findable. There’s no guesswork if everything is done properly. Once the first two sets of shelves are full of books the sun has moved across the sky to paint the Western side of the house with dappled light. The growling of her stomach pulls Erin away from where she had begun sorting through the pile of parts that made up the second bookshelf and into the kitchen. 

Dinner is pasta and jarred sauce, the house lacking fresh groceries entirely until she could get out to town tomorrow. The rest of the evening is spent binge watching a new show and putting together two more shelves. When Erin collapses into bed that night it’s with a satisfied sort of weariness. Her thoughts are full, dreams and hopes and fears, would she be able to make friends here? 

Seattle had been too much for her, the pressure of the city bearing down no matter how green and friendly it may be. She stuck it out for graduate school, but when the job here came through her email she knew a small quiet town like this would be a much better fit. Besides, even if she didn’t make friends, the kids at the school would like her, right? Her mind spiraled through all of the possibilities, and she lay there awake for what seemed like countless hours until a restless sleep overtook her. 

The next morning’s breakfast was some dry cereal shoved hand to mouth right out of the box, and a mug of hot slightly burnt coffee. The shower was blessedly hot, with surprisingly impressive water pressure, and with still damp hair Erin made her way out of the house and to the car. Her clothes were a little wrinkled, considering she still hadn’t unpacked her iron, but she did the best she could steaming them out in the bathroom while she showered. The green shirt dress was one of her favorites, it seemed to hide what she considered her many flaws and made her look casual and presentable. 

The drive to the town center was quick, maybe ten minutes and she was going fairly slowly. Pulling up behind another parked car, she eased on the parking break and stepped out into the fresh air and sunshine. The trees were cut back here to make room for a few blocks of buildings. An old diner, right next to an even older looking general store, across the street from them a pharmacy that took up an entire block, apparently still with an old-time soda fountain inside. The bank was kitty-corner to the pharmacy and across the main road from the general store, and as Erin strolled along the sidewalks she found herself pausing in front of the antique store towards the edge of the main road. She wanted to peek around, so with a little trepidation at the thought of social interaction she steels herself with a breath to open the door. 

Now, Walter Herrington had always been one for gut feelings. If his grammaw had ever taught him anything it was to trust that instinct in the back of your mind no matter what anyone else tells you. It had saved his hide more than once, especially out in the woods, so when he got his first glimpse of the newest resident of Perlston he found himself searching his gut for how to feel. She was pleasant looking, with big red curls and flushed pink cheeks, but something about her just seemed a little...off. Misplaced. Like she wasn’t from this world. She seemed somehow ethereal and yet so human and grounded, an odd mix that for whatever reason made the hair on the back of his neck raise. Still, at her shy smile and awkward wave he can’t help smiling back and giving a hearty greeting, inviting her to browse around as she likes. 

Nonetheless he keeps a wary eye on her as she looks around. She picks through a few pieces of furniture, noting a coffee table she likes and a set of dresser drawers she might come back for, but as she comes up to the counter to pay for the coffee table she gasps and almost presses her face against the glass at the sight of the leatherbound journal. It’s beautifully tooled and looks somehow simultaneously ancient and new. Her soul seems to call out to it, although she says that often when she buys a book somehow this time it feels like the truth. “I need that book…” Erin’s voice is low and reverent, her blunt nail tapping against the glass as she looks up at Walter with almost an air of desperation. 

He almost wants to say no, that look raising the hackles of his mind, but that feeling in his gut again tells him this is how it’s meant to go. So he can only close his mouth and nod, unlocking the glass cabinet with shaky hands and pulling the leather bound tome out and placing it before her. She strokes the front cover with a tenderness most people reserved for loved ones, and after a few moments of examining pays him wordlessly in cash for the total of both items. “Can you hold the table for me until I’m done grocery shopping? I’ll come back and collect it in an hour.” 

He’s all too thankful to get her out of his shop, her energy making the place feel tense somehow. “Sure thing, if you want to leave your car unlocked I can get this loaded up into your trunk while you’re shopping.” The bright smile, and cheerful expression of thanks, makes him lighten up a little. His gut still pinched nervously at her presence but she didn’t seem like she’d be a danger, at least. Weird he could learn to handle. He breathed a sigh of relief when she walked out, taking the book with her, and found his son in the back to help load up the table. 

When Erin had finished buying groceries, and making small talk with the old lady behind the register who although slow was so sweet Erin couldn’t find it in her to be mad, she was happy to find the coffee table loaded into the back of the car. She’d deal with getting it out later, that was a problem for future-Erin. Present-Erin made the drive back to the house, put away the groceries, and went to get looking at the journal more thoroughly. 

It certainly looked handmade, and the supple leather is slightly worn at the spine and corners. The simple tooling looks almost runic, although Erin couldn’t find anything about these particular symbols in any of her literature. The green stitching on the spine was definitely symbolic, but her searches there turned up similarly empty. The paper was slightly yellowed, but didn’t seem too brittle, and the end-pages were a lavish hand-dipped marbled paper in the same jade green as the thread and a deep cerulean blue. Erin was in love with this book. 

Journaling had been a hobby of hers since she had begun therapy, her therapist assured her that writing out feelings and thoughts would help to make a neatness of her jumbled mind. Erin found it helpful, a free space to get out all of her feelings and frustrations, to work through what problems needed confronting and what problems were entirely manifestations of her anxiety in her head. Usually, she made her own journals, but something about this book made her want to write in it. 

> _ Hello _

She used to find writing like this awkward. A letter to someone, herself maybe? The universe? The ether? It made her feel judged, like someone would be reading it, but over time she got over it. Somehow it was comforting, to get her feelings out like this. 

> _ I know, new journal! It’s strange isn’t it? How moving to a new place can bring you to new places inside yourself? Usually I’d be twisting inside about writing in something made by someone else, like my thoughts don’t belong to me but to whoever made the book. But this journal I found today, it’s too beautiful to leave it so empty. A book like this was meant to be filled. Perlston is nice, the people here are friendly enough but sorta strangely guarded. I was hoping this would be a better experience than the city, but it seems like making friends here will also be impossible. I have to keep my chin up, though, it’s only been two days after all.  _

Erin rambles on for a full page about the stress of unpacking and moving, but how happy she was to be out by nature. She doesn’t notice how warm the page feels under her, or the way it takes in the ink almost instantly into its fibers. When she signs the bottom of the page with a practiced and flourished “EC” she lets out a sigh and stretches. The way her back pops makes her moan with satisfaction as she pushes away from her desk to head upstairs. 

The rest of the week is spent unpacking and organizing, getting the house into a state that’s less sterile and more homey. By the time Sunday rolls around the house is mostly ready and Erin is itching to explore. So, with her journal in hand and some boots on her feet she ventures off onto a small trail she found near her backyard. As she follows it deeper into the forest, she finds a small stream and begins to follow it up until she reaches a pond fed by a thin trickling waterfall. Well, pond might be too small a term for it, but lake wasn’t right either. Still, the calming sound of running water and the fresh scent of grass and damp earth set her heart at ease. 

Settling down in the damp grass Erin pulls out her lunch and her journal. Eating her sandwich with one hand she starts to write happily with the other. Although a few sentences in she sees some ink begin to bloom on the bottom third of the page, making her eyebrows knit together. Slowly before her eyes she sees a messy scrawl begin to appear. 

> **_Are you there?_ **


	2. Forging Onward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the Orc, our love interest.

Urzash Firetamer was the only child of her parents. Thusly her father, the infamous Shamrol Skullcrusher, trained her the same way he would have trained a son. Urzash was an imposing orc by any measure, nearly eight feet tall and full-blooded with deep green skin and impressive tusks, many beads decorating her mane of dark hair. This newest conquest would earn her the second band around her tusks, a high honor denoting her prowess in combat. Her pouch was heavy with gold and gems, mostly honestly gained but a few pilfered along the way, and her pack had two new additions, a blessed warhammer and an ancient looking leather journal the sorcerer they assisted assured her connected with other universes. 

Alys, the cleric, pulled off her helm, running her fingers through sweat-matted brown curls before gesturing with her chin at the book Urzash had slapped down on the wooden table. “Have you looked at it yet?” Alys’s voice was always thick and dark, like a rare fall honey, it matched the caramel tone of her skin and the intense amber yellow of her eyes. 

Urzash just shakes her head, running one huge thumb over the cover. She got her name, Firetamer, because she showed a proficiency for not only brute strength but fire magic. She was a well known berzerker because of this uniqueness, able to coat her fists and body in a suit of fire in the midst of battle. As useful a skill as her fire taming was, it still made her feel like an outsider in the orcish community. That’s why she left in the first place, joining an adventurer’s guild and striking off out into the vast wilderness of Auren and beyond. 

The first thing she notes when she opens the book finally is that it is partially filled, and the writing is possibly the tidiest she’s ever seen. The neat, loopy script fills the first six pages of the book, front and back, and each entry is signed off with a mysterious “EC.” The writing is mundane talk about feelings, activities, days, but the wording is odd… It’s written in common, which isn’t so strange, but talks about things she’s never heard of. Cars, television, internet, meaningless words.

Urzash scoffs as she reaches the first blank page, and the party’s halfling rogue giggles. “Betcha that sorcerer stiffed us by giving us some worthless junk ‘n calling it magic or whatever. That just looks like some crazy ramblings.” Urzash was ready to agree with Penny, but they’re both interrupted from beginning a rant by the slim hand of Lithwe, the sorcerer declaring that there was indeed some deep magic within the book. The argument itself though is stopped when words begin to appear on the page before their eyes.

> _ Hello again _
> 
> _ It’s hot here today, hotter than usual, but I’ve managed to find my way to a secluded little waterfall in the forest behind my house. It’s really beautiful, idyllic and inspiring, you know? _

The loopy font is slowly blooming to life on the page, and as Urzash rubs at it nothing happens, the ink doesn’t even smudge appearing on the page bone dry. She digs through her pack to produce a quill and ink, quickly scrawling out a message at the bottom.

> _**Are you there?** _

Urzash isn’t sure what she’s expecting to happen. Nothing maybe? 

> _ ~~Who What is How~~ Yes? _

It’s like Urzash can see the thought process as this is happening, mirroring her own. She didn’t think this through, did she? What does she say now? Who is this? Where are they from? Are they really from another universe or is this some kind of magic trick? Hesitating over the page, a splotch of ink drops from her quill onto the paper, as she keeps thinking about what to write she watches as whoever is on the other side turns the ink splash into a flower, complete with stem and leaves. So, probably a real person on the other end and not some magic script. Urzash smiles at that, eyes bright with curiosity. 

> **_You’re actually real. Tell me, where are you from?_ **

Erin isn’t exactly sure what to do with herself when words start appearing on the page before her randomly. Writing and scratching out and writing and scratching out a few times before finally settling on her response, which felt a little weak now that she sits back and looks at it. As she waits for a response she begins nervously doodling around an ink blot that appeared on the page in the same sudden blooming manner. She isn’t sure how specific she should be, so she settles for some vagueness. Although, realistically, if whoever was on the other side could read her writing they’d know enough about her to come and find her which sent a sudden surge of icy terror down her spine. Still, it was too late to do anything about it now. 

> _ Washington state, in the US, what about you? _

Urzash is hopelessly confused, the us? The who? And Washington? That’s an odd name for a place. A town where you wash things? 

> _**Washington where?** _

The response is a crudely drawn map of a place Urzash has never seen, a land that looks wholly unfamiliar to her in terms of coastline. Some rough lines are drawn in along the left side and then circled, as if that should clear anything up. A little arrow pointing to it fills in  _ Washington State  _ and is followed with another set of lines circled towards the right side with an arrow pointing to say  _ Washington DC _ . Urzash wonders briefly if this DC is related to EC, perhaps an older relative or ancient ancestor?

“That map makes no sense.” Alys’s voice draw’s Urzash’s eyes from the page. “No discovered land has a coastline anything like that, and we’ve had sailors circumnavigate the globe.” Her fingers begin drumming on the table, brow furrowed. “I mean, nothing even close to it, look at that peninsula right there sticking out from the bottom right, nothing like that has ever been mapped.” As they’re talking more text appears beneath the map. 

> _ Where are you from? _
> 
> **_Currently Greenbriar’s Landing, in the country of Auren._ **
> 
> _ Auren isn’t a country I’ve ever heard of? _

Urzash hums to herself, scratching out a map of her own of the land and a few landmarks such as mountains and the main rivers. Lithwe interrupts again, their light voice cutting through the chatter around them. “The magic is being channeled through some sort of portal at a level so intrinsic as to not be seen. I wonder...if we could mold and use this magic to somehow draw ourselves or the other through this portal to the other side…” They trail off, muttering to themselves as their eyes glow a faint blue while they channel and work to break down the spell to its most basic components. 

So, it seems as though the journal is authentic, and does connect elsewhere. 

> _ What’s Auren like? _

Urzash purses her lips in thought.

> **_A lot of open land, mostly. It’s fairly peaceful, although bandits are a problem as I’m sure you know. The cities and strongholds are well protected, but raids on smaller hamlets are sadly common. Traveling can be dangerous but it’s getting safer as alliances between larger cities mean more patrolling along roads._ **

Erin, in fact, did not know bandits were still a problem. Still, if this is some kind of writing exercise for whoever or whatever is on the other end of this, that’s fine. Either that or this is the start of her descent into madness, and she’s actually the one writing all of this and not remembering it. Really, at this point, she isn’t sure which of the choices is worse, especially considering the implications of the former. 

> _**What is Washington like?** _

Erin’s reverie, or spiral into a panic attack but who’s asking, is interrupted by this.

> _We’re way West and North, with a lot of forest still despite the US’s propensity for cutting down nature to make way for man. I live in the forest now at the base of some mountains, it’s nice. Quiet town, not a whole lot to do, but I like it that way._

Alys breaks the silence of the group. “Men destroying nature in favor of their own desires, some things are the same everywhere.” Urzash hums in agreement, penning a response that says as much, before their table is joined by a face she was hoping to never see again. 

“What do you want, Rolgar?” The growl of Urzash’s voice would be enough to send most scattering, but Rolgar just gives her that leering smile she’s always hated, tusks flashing in the dim firelight. 

“What? A guy can’t come check up on an old friend?” One of his thick arms is slung across the back of her chair, and she stands abruptly to shove it off, glaring down and growling at the presumptuous orc. Rolgar for his part just grins, standing languidly and beating Urzash in height by just an inch or two. “You’re right, we really should go for a dance.” Rolgar reaches for her hand, and Urzash slaps his arm away. “You know, I like ‘em feisty.” He breeches her personal space, coming far too close as he reaches for her hip. 

Urzash lashes out with her right fist, connecting with his jaw. The resounding crack silences the rest of the tavern, and the clink of one impressive tusk cracking off and falling to the stone ground elicits a gasp from the onlooking crowd. Rolgar lifts a trembling hand to feel the stump where there was once a proud tusk. Yes, it would grow back as all orc tusks do, but considering the size it could be a year or more before he’d be back to his normal self. The impotent roar that Rolgar lets out just makes Urzash laugh. He telegraphs his oncoming attack so hard that all Urzash really has to do is use his momentum against him, sidestepping the punch and grabbing him by the arm to make sure he goes down to the floor. 

She’s standing on his upper back and has his leading arm by the wrist, twisted and pulled behind him as she moves her foot up until she’s putting pressure on his neck. “What do you want, Rolgar?” Urzash grinds out her response with the very last dregs of her patience, wondering exactly how much trouble she’d be in if she just stepped a little harder and snapped his neck. Would anyone believe she slipped? 

Rolgar is coughing on the ground, staring at his own tusk and still internally raging. “Icewing.” The name is enough to get Urzash to lift her boot just enough to ease his talking. “Icewing has been spotted taking to air again, he’s terrorizing the hamlets around Urgaur Stronghold. The party that had claimed to have defeated him merely pilfered from his hoard and left him sleeping.” Urzash roars but throws down Rolgar’s arm and steps back, sneering down at him. 

“Fucking useless! I told them the Golden Helm company was a fraud. ‘We don’t need a fighter’ they say ‘we do everything quick and quiet, like a knife to the ribs.’ What a bunch of fucking tripe.” Urzash is pacing. Dragons...it’s rare a company gets the chance to pit their strength against the terrifying wrath of a dragon. Fire drakes were the most powerful, but there hadn’t been a fire drake known for at least the last four hundred years. An ice drake was still a formidable and deadly challenge. 

“They know, that’s why they’re asking for you.” Rolgar stands and cracks his neck, his languid stretch shows off his lean muscular frame. He’s the epitome of male orcish aesthetics, but Urzash has never been interested in men, especially orc men if what she grew up with was anything to go by. Still, Urgaur Stronghold was her birthplace and home, she couldn’t let this stand.

“Fine, sit, but away from me. We’ll discuss terms.” Urzash kicks a chair out from the table and points at it before taking her own seat back and glancing at the book. Whoever was on the other side had written more, but it would have to wait for now. Closing the journal and putting it in her pack, Urzash gives her full attention to Rolgar as he begins discussing the first attacks and current patterns, along with compensation. He may be a dick but his tactical mind was indeed useful and honed.

They talk into the early hours of the morning, leaving only once a fair deal has been hashed out and handshakes given all around. They’ll set out in two day’s time towards the hoard of Icewing. Now, everyone knows that confronting a dragon head on is sure death. You have to lie in wait, and when the dragon’s guard is down you strike. By the time Urzash climbs into her bunk and pulls the book from her pack it’s been several hours since she last looked at it. 

> _It’s true, mankind seems to think that the metrics by which we measure humanity are the only true things of worth. So nature isn’t considered progress, and personal growth is stymied by this greed and lust for power and control. It’s why I left the city to live here, I couldn’t take it anymore._
> 
> _ I’m Erin, what’s your name? _
> 
> _ Sorry if that was too personal, I hope I haven’t run you off! _

Then there are some half started letters and spots of ink, but otherwise nothing else. Urzash sighs through her nose, feeling a little bad for ignoring the writer on the other end. 

> _**Not run off, just a bit of an emergency to handle. You can call me Ash, many do, short for Urzash. I must go for the evening, but I would like to talk again. You write about many things that confuse me but I want to learn. Like what are these unreliable things called cars you hate so much? And this internet thing sounds usefu...** _

Urzash is truly too tired to think much about what she’s writing, and her handwriting slowly devolves until she falls asleep with the book propped next to her and quill staining the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can still find me on Tumblr under the same name!


	3. Work Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erin is pretty sure she's going nuts, but at least the school librarian is a peach who will take her mind off it.

Erin’s sleep is fitful and filled with dreams of death and smoke, she isn’t sure from where. She supposes her nightmares are another manifestation of her anxiety, and she’s concerned about whether she’s managed somehow to alienate the stranger on the other side of that book (or her second personality, but she’s not going to dwell on that possibility any longer than is absolutely necessary). She’s never been great with social interaction, although somehow she feels as though she’s gotten worse and not better as the years have passed. 

Monday mornings have never been her favorite, even when she isn’t required to get up and head into work on that particular day it’s important to keep some semblance of a schedule. So rolling out of bed at noon, as would be her preferred way to start the day, was out of the question. No, instead she’s for whatever reason awake at eight in the morning without any real plans for the day other than “avoid the sun” after getting badly sunburned yesterday being so absorbed in the ‘conversation’ in the journal. 

Pointedly ignoring the journal for now though Erin pads barefoot to the kitchen and starts on breakfast. Still stinging a little from being abandoned mid-conversation, a feeling she’s a little too used to from the normal types of social interaction, she begins on some pancake batter. Her figure and her therapist would tell you her relationship with food was not necessarily the healthiest. Growing up, food had always been a source of comfort where there was otherwise a lack of support. No friends? Don’t worry, there’s still cake! That habit persisted into adulthood, where we find her now making pancakes instead of confronting the uncomfortable reality of her most recent meaningful social interaction. Let’s also ignore that talking through a book was her most recent meaningful social interaction, shall we?

As the griddle starts to heat up and the butter on it foams she pours the batter on in neat circles, humming to herself. Pancakes used to be a family ritual, and it sends a bittersweet pang through her heart. It’s warm and comforting to be sure, but she misses her father now more than ever. A tall and imposing looking man, with a thick beard and heavy brow, but whose blue eyes would sparkle with joy and laughter whenever looking at her or her mother. With a sigh Erin forces her attention back to the pancakes, finally ready to flip, and finds them perfectly golden brown on the first side. “Thanks, daddy.” She mumbles into the air, a soft sad smile on her face. 

It takes a few minutes to produce a tidy stack of pancakes and arrange them, appropriately buttered and stacked, onto a plate. She takes the plate and silverware, along with a bottle of maple syrup, and sits cross legged in front of her coffee table on the soft carpet of the living room. The TV is switched on and browsing through her choices she settles on some cartoon reruns and tunes out. The pancakes are drowned in syrup, and the first perfectly fluffy bite makes her sigh in satisfaction. By the time they’re gone she feels a little more awake and a little better. She places the dishes into the sink to wash later, and as she moves to check the journal now that she feels a bit better she’s interrupted by her ringing phone. The screen lights up with a local contact number and a name that seems familiar to some back portion of her brain. “Hello?”

“Ah, hello dear! It’s Catherine Forrester, I was hoping you could join me at the school today so we can begin going over the transition. Summer school is in session so I thought it would be a good opportunity to get you used to the building before you start going it alone in the fall.” Erin is pacing back and forth in front of the large window that overlooks the backyard. 

“Of course, Mrs. Forrester. That sounds great, what time would you like me there?” Chewing on the side of her thumb she listens to the older woman prattle on about the summer school session for a few minutes until she finally gets to the information Erin needed.

“So if you could come by around noon, while the kids are busy with lunch, that would be easiest I think.” Erin hums in agreement before answering.

“Yes, of course, that makes total sense. I’ll be there, I’m very excited to get started.” Mrs. Forrester chirps back that she’s excited to meet Erin and to drive safely. The journal is almost completely forgotten as Erin checks the clock only to see that it’s nearly eleven already. With a groan of annoyance “why couldn’t she have called me just a little earlier…” Erin heads to the bathroom to shower, thankful that the water heater is full. It only takes a minute for the water to get to a blessedly warm temperature, the bathroom beginning to fill with a light misting of steam, the mirrors slowly fogging up from the bottom. 

Erin showers as quickly as she can, although with the thick red curls on her head it still always takes longer than she’d like. Once out she runs a towel through her hair and then a comb before pinning it up and out of the way, it’s quicker than trying to dry it. Pawing through her closet she curses at herself for not doing laundry yet, as that green shirt dress would have been perfect. Instead she settles for a slightly more structured dress in a pale blue cotton with little white flowers. She smudges on enough makeup to look professional and put together, while hating that she has to do so in the first place, and by the time she’s out the door with her shoes on she’s left with ten minutes to make the drive. 

The school is situated on a plot of land just outside of the main town, a huge expanse of dedicated sports fields behind the quaint one-floor complex makes up a large portion of the footprint. The school itself is small, but encompasses k-12. Considering how small the town itself is the class sizes are tiny, even considering the surrounding small towns bus their kids here. The parking lot has a smattering of cars in it, and Erin finds a shady patch to pull her car into before easing into park and pulling down the vanity mirror. 

A deep breath, in and out, repeated a few times, helps her feel ready. “Alright, you know what you’re doing, you’re ready for this.” Nodding to herself she flips the mirror up and grabs her bag before exiting the car and making the long walk to the front doors of the school. The library is easy to find with the verbal directions Mrs. Forrester had given, and it’s 11:58 when Erin walks through the library doors. 

“Ah, Ms. Curett, thank you for joining me on such short notice! Oh you look lovely.” Erin is greeted with an enthusiastic embrace and a kiss on each cheek from the shorter older woman. Catherine Forrester is a spry woman of nearly ninety. At eighty seven you’d have thought she would be at home being doted on by her family, but she loved working too much to give it up. Now though, she’s feeling her age a little too much. It was getting harder and harder to chase after the children and keep order, especially when it came to the troublemakers of the school: ie those who would be forced to come back for summer school. She’s short and slight, with a mane of long white hair she’s left loose hanging down her back. Her face is wrinkled with laugh lines, the sign of a happy and full life, and her knobby hands are covered in silver rings and bracelets. She’s dressed in long flowing skirts and blouses and looks like she spent her twenties and thirties as a hippie, and just never gave it up. 

Erin is mesmerized momentarily by the way her bracelets jingle when she walks, and the way the light catches her ice white hair. Mrs. Forrester is beautiful in a very human way, and the energy she exudes says she wants everyone to feel the same. It’s comforting for Erin, so she follows the older woman without question and listens to her chatter on happily about the library, the children, the town, her family. Erin was happy to be a friendly ear, and by the time they’re getting ready to go home she’s learned very little about her duties but everything about her newest friend. “School starts at nine tomorrow, sweetheart, so why don’t you meet me here at half past eight and we’ll share coffee and some secrets.” The older woman pats Erin’s arm and gives her a wink, making Erin giggle and rub her slim shoulder. 

“That sounds great, it’s a date. I’ll bring donuts if you bring that coffee you were telling me about roasting.” The drive home is happy, and Erin makes a detour to the grocery store in town to pick up ingredients to make her own donuts. If Mrs. Forrester is going to be roasting and grinding her own coffee, then Erin can make her own donuts. “I’ve got my starter at home, and if I get up early I can fry them in the morning so they’re fresh…” The plan is set, sourdough donuts. Maybe with some cinnamon sugar. 

The dough is fairly quick to come together in the mixer with the dough hook, way too lazy to hand knead a sticky mess like this. It goes in the fridge and the kitchen gets cleaned and readied ahead of tomorrow. Dinner is easy leftovers, and it’s nearly nine by the time Erin even considers the journal again, sitting heavily in her desk chair staring down at it. “I mean, I guess I could take a peek, if there’s nothing there, I’ll put it on my bookshelf and forget about it.” Nodding to herself she sits before the book again and hesitantly opens it. 

She isn’t sure what she’s expecting. Part of her is very much hoping that when she opens the journal this will have all been some strange fever dream, and the journal will show nothing but her entries until she maybe dozed off outside. Considering she hasn’t looked at the book since she put it back into her pack yesterday it’s a real possibility. She isn’t that lucky though, and when she opens the book to the last used page she’s confronted with a new message that she knows she didn’t write.

Erin doesn’t even notice she’s hyperventilating until she pushes back and tries to stand, going lightheaded and dizzy so quickly she’s forced to sit again. “Focus on your breath, focus on your breath…” She’s repeating directions from her therapist, counting in and out to five. She grounds her feet to the floor, feeling her connection to the house, she focuses on her weight in the chair, the feeling of the fabric, in one two three four five, out one two three four five. It takes a few minutes, but she opens her eyes and feels a little better. 

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Erin is singing to herself tunelessly, a habit she picked up from her mother as a child. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual  _ actual _ fuck.” She pulls her hair down from its updo to run her fingers through her curls, a comforting nervous habit. She reads and re-reads the conversation from yesterday. “Okay, logically, either I’m going nuts which isn’t a conclusion I’m willing to reach at the moment, or...or this is some kind of...kind of...new...technology?” She peters off at the end, voice high pitched and strained. “Or magic is real, which I think ties back into the whole I’m nuts thing…” She rests her head heavily against the edge of her desk, sighing gustily into her lap. “Okay, so, going nuts it is I guess. I already talk to myself I mean what’s one more thing.”

Erin sits up and rubs at her forehead, looking down at the open page that’s teasing her with possibilities. “If magic is real, then maybe I’m actually talking to someone from some weird fucking fantasy country? Should I just...run with this?” She considers the options, but something inside her tells her not to just shelve the book. “I guess I’m really going to run with this…” She knew even as she was having her inner tantrum what the answer was going to be, there’s no way she could ignore this. Growing up reading fantasy novels allows you to bring some sense of childlike hope and wonder at the world into your adult life. 

“If this is actually happening, then there’s no way I can let this pass me by.” She nods in resolve and carefully re-reads the conversation on the page with a suspension of disbelief that has allowed her to enjoy many a piece of media. The soft smile that overcomes her face as she reads the last message is at the mental image of whoever was on the other side falling asleep over the page, an action Erin herself has taken many times when she’s been too engrossed in whatever she was doing to properly go to bed. 

> _ Ash, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you, I was called into work on short notice this morning. If you’d like to talk and learn about my world I would love to teach you, because I would also love to learn about your world. Your world sounds nothing like mine, bandits especially aren’t a problem where I am. If you’re willing to teach me about Auren I would love to tell you what I can about the US and the world. I hope your emergency is easily handled, or at least safely handled. Good luck, and stay safe.  _

She waits a few minutes, staring at the page, but no message appears in return. “Of course not, even if this is real, which I’m not saying it is but I’m not saying it’s not, but even if it is real there’s no reason whoever’s on the other side is sitting staring at the page waiting for my message. They have their own things to do.” She nods to herself and leaves the book open on her desk. “I’ll come check back before I go to sleep.” 

Erin has every intention of doing just that, but when she falls asleep to an old Disney movie on her worn couch she doesn’t have the chance. Waking heavily around five in the morning she groans, the imprint of the couch cushions on her cheek stinging as she lifts her head and blearily eyes the bright light of her television. She paws for the controller to switch it off, and rolls herself off the couch to wander into her bedroom, passing by her desk with the journal on it. She’s suddenly awake though as her eyes glance over the page to show another message beneath the one she scrawled last night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can, as always, find me on Tumblr under the same name :) Join my discord!


	4. Dad the Weapons Dealer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urzash and co. need some new arms, who better than Penny's father the totally-above-board arms dealer?

Urzash isn’t sure what she’s expecting when she wakes up, imprint of ink on her forearm from where she crashed on top of the journal. She isn’t particularly surprised when there’s no return message, magic can be a fickle and finicky thing after all. She does feel a pang of disappointment though at the thought that perhaps her delay in replying had cost her the opportunity to continue communicating with this Erin. After a quick wash in the basin she joins her companions back downstairs for breakfast. 

“Any word from our strange new companion?” Alys hands a mead to Urzash and frowns when the orc’s only response is to grumble and shake her head. “Don’t look so put out, we have no idea how that book even works.” 

“It’s not like we’ve got time to get it checked out anyway, or have we all forgotten about that whole ‘we’re going to kill a dragon’ thing we agreed to last night? Can we say we’ve all forgotten and pretend that never happened?” Penny is picking at the wood of the table with a short dagger, pouting like the child she makes herself appear to be. The halfling is fair, with a button nose and freckles that make her look like an innocent. Her pigtails are full of bouncy curls and while her clothing is full of hidden pockets (like all good rogues) she still makes sure to disguise herself as a youngling. After all, who would suspect the innocent, pouting little girl?

“Sorry Pen, ‘m afraid we can’t go back on our word.” Urzash throws her arm around Penny’s tiny shoulders, squeezing the halfling into her side. Penny just huffs and shoves uselessly at Ash’s ribs before scowling and crossing her arms, settling comfortably against the Orc’s side. 

“Screw you and your big people logic and your pride and ugh, fine!” The slam of the halfling’s head on the wood makes Urzash and Alys both break out in peals of laughter. Lithwe quirks a smile, cocking their head gently at the scene as they gaze on happily. “Come on then, we’ve got to go visit my father if we’re looking for new arms. We’ve gotta go in as prepared as possible. Ice dragon...means we’re going to make sure to use some enchanted weapons. You’re lucky Ash, with your big scary fire hands.” Urzash laughs and ruffles Penny’s head at that, making the halfling squawk and swat at her big, green hand. “Speaking of, shouldn’t someone be here with the front portion of our fee? If we’re going to be stocking up it should be on their dime.”

Alys nods, glancing out around the room. “Yes, although with Rolgar’s pride as wounded as it is I fear we may be left waiting until the last moment. Something tells me he would enjoy seeing us fail.” The snort Urzash lets out draws the attention of the rest of the group. 

“Sorry Al, just, ‘something’ tells you? I think he’s as obvious as he can be without being blatant.” Alys chuckles at that, shrugging a little with a nod. 

“I was attempting to be diplomatic, in case of prying ears.” Her quirked brow makes Urzash chuckle bashfully and rub the back of her neck, beads clinking. “I know, quite the thought that people might be listening in a place so private and secluded.” Alys’ gaze sweeps sarcastically over the crowd at the inn’s tavern even at this hour of the day. 

“Speak of the Devil.” Penny’s mumble interrupts Urzash and Alys as they finally notice Rolgar. He’s greeting the bartender, and when he turns to continue over to the group they see what he really looks like after last night’s scuffle in the light of day. His missing tusk makes Urzash want to smirk, but she bites back the urge and keeps her face in a neutral scowl. He’s also sporting a swollen cheek on that side that side, mottled an ugly purple and green. He glares but stomps over, as begrudgingly polite as his ego will allow. 

“Mornin’.” The crew around the table greets him coolly, and he nods before tossing a heavy pouch of gold and silver coins on the table and leaning in to speak quietly. “Twenty five hundred up front. We expect to see you back at Urgaur with the Dragon’s head or not at all.” Urzash resists the urge to spit at his feet, only nodding tersely before he straightens up and turns on his heel to march back out the door. 

The atmosphere is immediately brighter as soon as he’s gone, conversation picking back up in volume and tone. Urzash though is still glaring at the door as though she could set him on fire through the thick wood. “Well, that could have been worse.” Penny stands abruptly and palms the pouch of coins, downing the last of her tea and stuffing the rest of her scone in her mouth. She muffles out some approximation of “let’s go get some gear” around the doughy flaky treat and begins to stalk out of the tavern.

“Woah, hold it half-pint.” Urzash grabs Penny by the hood and picks her up easily, Penny’s legs flailing beneath her as she whines out. “Come on, let’s give the rest of us a chance to get something in our bellies. Besides we both know your father won’t be done with his morning for another hour, remember when he left us waiting until half three because you tried to interrupt elevensies?” Penny huffs and groans like a child, but brightens up when Urzash puts two more scones on her plate along with a healthy dollop of cream and jam. 

If nothing else Penny’s stunt got Urzash out of her funk and back into the usual jovial mood that they all needed before a big quest. “Fine fine, I know when I’m beat. When you’re right you’re right.” Penny happily busies herself preparing her scone to her liking and making another cup of tea. Urzash is finally presented with her breakfast, a huge plate of sausages and ham, fried eggs, corn cakes, and roasted tomatoes. Urzash has to swat away the halfling’s hand once or twice, and looks the other way another time or two to ignore a missing chunk or two of meat.

Lithwe is quickly finished with their fruit, happily sipping on tea and watching the rest of the group eat. Alys is having a plate similar to Urzash’s, although half the size, and by the time the two are finished eating the sun has reached its apex and Penny is starting to get antsy at the thought of trying new weapons. “Come ooooon, you’ve got to be ready by now. God, you big people are so slow!” Penny’s joking resigned tone makes Urzash and Alys laugh. 

“Don’t lump me in with those two brutes.” Lithwe’s delivery is deadpan as always, but the sparkle behind their eyes betrays their humor. Penny’s answering giggle and wink as she all but disappears from view only to reappear on the other side of Lithwe away from the other two. 

“Oh I would never! Us beautiful people have to stick together you know.” The four walk out of the tavern together laughing and head down the main street of the large settlement. Penny’s father Carver is a rather well known arms dealer, able to get all sorts of interesting, rare, and enchanted weaponry that others have a hard time getting their hands on. Even if the origins themselves are...questionable, at best, the weapons are of incredible quality and durability. 

The walk is a short five minutes, and when they walk into the cool air of Claude’s shop they’re greeted by a flurry of fussing from the rather unexpected presence of Penny’s mother Pansy. “Oh you four are just in time for tea, come in come in, you need to sit. What brings you here, I thought you lot just got kitted up a few weeks ago?” As they’re ushered deeper into the shop through a back door to a large table Carver appears from behind a large shelf with a smile and quirk of his brow. 

“I was wondering the same thing, dear. What brings you lot of mangy mutts back?” Carver’s tone is as teasing and light as Penny’s, and it puts everyone at ease. Penny looks green at the gills though, nervous about telling her parents about the current plans. 

“Well, uh, ma, dad, we’ve ah, we got a big, bigbigbig, biiiig job. Big job. I mean, huge, heh. So, ah, we need some...suitably...big...weapons?” Penny trails off at the stern glare of her mother and confused look of her father. Urzash and Alys meanwhile are trying to hold in a fit of laughter at Penny’s stressed rambling. Penny looks pleadingly at the rest of the group for a little bit of assistance, and Alys manages to compose herself. 

“What Penny is trying to say, is we’ve been contracted by Urgaur stronghold to take care of a problem they’re dealing with. So we’ve got to get weapons appropriate for the issue.” Penny looks relieved as does Pansy, Carver however is giving Alys and Urzash a shrewd look. He’s so rarely anything but jovial, even in doling out punishments, so to see him so serious is a little unnerving. 

“Big job and issue, hm? What ah, what kind of weapons are you guys needing? I need to know what you’re fighting in order to get you appropriate weapons, yeah?” Penny blanches and Alys stumbles, making Pansy’s scowl return full force. “Any reason you look so nervous to tell us, my darling, precious, only child, who I love very much and would hate to lose for any reason?” Carver has pinned Penny with a look that Penny thought she had been the one to perfect. The huge doe eyes should be out of place on someone her father’s age, but they just make her gut twist more with guilt. 

Urzash grumbles and runs her hands through her thick, dark hair, worrying at some of the larger beads along the strands. “A dragon, alright? I’m sure you’ve heard the news that the villages around Urgaur are dealing with Icewing again and that it’s getting closer to the stronghold as the days go on. Considering the schedule or rhythm he seems to keep, we think we can get in and lie in wait to strike while he’s vulnerable.” Pansy gasps and sits back heavily, fanning herself. 

“I’m going...I’m going to faint. I’m gonna pass out. Carver, darling, I don’t…” Carver, for his part, has simply placed his head in his hands and started laughing hysterically. A worrying reaction to be sure, considerably more concerning than Pansy’s hysterics. When Carver lifts his head again, the group can see tears streaking down his freckled cheeks, but a look of stony resignation in his eyes. 

“Calm down darling, calm down. It’ll be alright. Y’know our girl Pan, she’s made her mind up eh? Not much we can do now but make sure they’re as ready as they get.” He sighs, but smiles fondly at the four. “Come on then, let’s get some tea in you and then we’ll get you kitted. I think we’ve got something in that you’ll need.”

Pansy, having calmed some, places a platter of cookies and sandwiches on the table and excuses herself to lie down. Penny goes to join her mother, hoping to at least assuage some of her concerns and leave on a happy note. Should the worst happen, this isn’t how she wanted their last meeting to go. Alys and Carver are engaged in a rather lively discussion about the various benefits and drawbacks of her current armor style versus some newer constructions in from Lagrat. So, Urzash takes this time to recheck the journal. 

She scoffs slightly but smiles at the message neatly penned beneath her own sleepy scrawling. Easy and safe are not words that anyone would rightly associate with a quest to slay a dragon. Still, it will be a nice distraction to learn about this US and the beings who inhabited it. Any country where bandits have ceased to be a scourge to travelers is a good one in her books. She files the book away to respond later, hopeful that the magic will be open again for her to communicate the way they had been writing back and forth. For now, it’s important to focus on the task at hand, and that’s arming up to fight a dragon and save the very people who shunned her and made her life miserable. 

It’s an odd feeling, to be so attached to a culture and its people but also hate them for the way that they’ve mistreated you. Urzash feels that clash daily, proud of her heritage and culture, but also ashamed of herself for being so because her natural ability was apparently something to be derided. Her family, at least, was welcoming and supportive. Still, those same people who had once shunned her have now come begging for her help, that natural ability they so reviled suddenly the thing that can save them from their otherwise deadly fate at the maw of an ice drake. As much as she wishes she could tell them to shove it, to handle it themselves, she can’t. She cannot, in good conscience, leave them to defend themselves when she and her friends were here and capable. The money doesn’t hurt, either. A good chunk of gold and trunk of jewels enough to soothe some wounded pride. When Penny returns, looking a good bit lighter and happier, Carver stands from his spot at the head of the table. “Well then, shall we to the armory?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can still find me on Tumblr under the same name!


	5. Lack of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erin tries to explain to the journal that magic doesn't exist in her universe. Except for, you know, apparently that journal itself.

The sun has just begun to peek above the horizon somewhere distantly, the sky is still mostly dark but ever so slowly lightening and birds begin to wake from their nightly slumber. Erin sits heavily at her desk. It is possible that she’s suddenly begun sleepwalking and sleep writing, despite no history of it otherwise in her life. She isn’t on any of those odd sleeping meds that sometimes make people do strange things in a fugue state. If it isn’t her though, that means it has to be something or someone else, and the only response her brain can cook up is magic. She doesn’t exactly feel...great, when she thinks about it that way. What else could it possibly be though if not magic? She isn’t willing to pull apart the book to find out, so with that resolved in her mind she returns her attention to the fresh passage in her journal.

> **_I’m sorry it’s taken me some time to respond, things here are progressing at a fast pace and preparations cannot be halted, even for the most interesting conversation I’ve ever had. We’ve settled in for the night though, after a rather long day at the armory and smithy. Tell me about your work, what do you do? I would suppose you can tell that I am something of a mercenary._ **

‘No’ thinks Erin ‘I cannot.’ She supposes that it makes sense, in the context of the messages and now knowing what she knows about what the world on the other side of the page seems to be like. She wonders what sort of something is progressing over there, what kind of adventure or battle they’re headed into. Mercenaries tend to be hired by armies, right? Right. Well, that makes her feel a little bit inadequate in the face of likely a literal warrior who deals with death on a likely daily basis. Still, Erin doesn’t have it in her to lie, besides what would she even claim to do that she could back up with enough knowledge that doesn’t make her look like a weakling any more than being a librarian does. 

> **_I am lucky enough to travel with dear friends and work to keep the realm safe. We handle niche problems that larger forces cannot._ **

“Am I reading a fucking D&D backstory?” Erin vacillates between this being real and this being some kind of giant hoax being played on her by the town. She suddenly regrets moving so far away from her care team and being here without a therapist. Arthur had been the best, and was so very confident in Erin’s progress that he encouraged her to take this job so long as she would stay on her medication and continue practicing her mindfulness. Sighing a little and rubbing her eyes, Erin decides once and for all to just...go with it. If this is what’s happening, then she’s going to roll with it for now and keep evaluating things as time goes on. 

> _ I wouldn’t have guessed you were a mercenary! Considering that isn’t particularly commonplace in my world. I am a librarian, I work in a small library at a school. I didn’t love working in the city library system, and I’ve always enjoyed working with children, so being a school librarian was much more my speed. It’s boring compared to what you do I’m sure! But I enjoy it because it’s so quiet and predictable. I find it hard to believe that the most interesting conversation you’ve ever had is with a librarian from small town Washington, but I’ll take it as the compliment you intended it as!  _

Erin pauses briefly in her writing, considering what to ask next, whether it’s even appropriate to comment on the quest her writing partner is set to go on, when ink begins to flood the page again but not from her hand. 

> **_Ah, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re a keeper of knowledge, it’s an important post. Just because it isn’t dangerous doesn’t mean it isn’t impressive. Besides, of course you’re the most interesting conversation I’ve ever had, you’re the only person I’ve ever talked to outside of our world._ **
> 
> “Well that sentiment is certainly mutual.” Erin mumbles to herself out loud as she watches the writing seep to life. 
> 
> _ You’re certainly the only person I’ve ever talked to from outside of my world. I keep wondering if I’m insane or if this is actually happening. Magic isn’t real! But apparently it is? Or maybe this is one of those ‘sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic’ scenarios. But I’m rambling, and I thought I only did that verbally.  _
> 
> **_What do you mean magic isn’t real?_ **

Erin is interrupted by a frantic and barely-legible scribble. 

> _ I mean, at least in my world, magic literally isn’t real? Except for apparently it is because we’re talking like this? I mean, people have their own beliefs and whatever but there’s no like proof that magic exists. It’s not like someone can just conjure fire or whatever, I’m hesitant to even tell anyone about this book because I’m pretty sure they’ll think I’m nuts and toss me into inpatient treatment because I’m essentially talking to myself.  _

That’s the crux of it really, isn’t it? There’s no one that Erin can show this to, no one that she can go to with this cool, weird thing that’s happening. No one she can trust to share this with who would not immediately call for her to be evaluated for some sort of disorder. It’s surprisingly easy to vent this into the journal, to get those anxieties out on the open onto the page. The writing being scrawled beneath hers is frantic and once again barely legible. It takes her some time to parse it out, and even then she isn’t one hundred percent on every word. 

> **_Wait so you’re telling me that you don’t have access to magic at all? But...how do you...how do you do anything?! Does healing just take forever? How do you treat illnesses? Poisonings? You’re telling me you’ve never been cursed?! Can you at least enchant weapons? How do you fight otherwise?! You’re telling me you can’t even light a simple fire?!_ **

You can almost hear the panicked voice on the other end, yelling about the lack of magic and all of the things she’s supposedly missing out on because of it. “I mean, I can’t say I want to be cursed…” Erin mumbles a little sourly, she’s almost pouting. It feels a little judgmental but it’s not like there’s anything she can do about it. “I can light a fire just fine, thank you very much, it just takes a lighter.” She sticks her tongue out at the book as she talks out loud before drafting a response. 

> _ Well, we’ve got technology? We don’t really need to light fires that often, we might for pleasure in a fireplace or at a bonfire but we have electricity for heat and light, we have machines to help treat illness and we work hard to prevent it whenever possible with vaccines and immunizations. We fight here I’d guess similarly to you guys in a lot of respects, although something tells me you all don’t have guns or explosive warfare. If you could see a gun you would understand why we don’t need enchanted weapons, at least here in our world. It’s not like we fight anything other than each other and the occasional wild animal. No, I cannot say I’ve ever been cursed, at least that I know of.  _

Erin watches the ink from her partner’s pen meet the page to start a word only to stop a few times. Giggling to herself she leaves the book where it is for a few minutes to make a pot of coffee, bringing back a large mug of it doctored with cream and sugar. Her writing companion had started and stopped a handful of times, leaving a smattering of dots and lines on the page before scrawling out a few more questions in a slightly steadier hand. 

> **_Electricity like lightning? You can harness that kind of raw energy?! And you say it isn’t magic?!_ **

Erin laughs at that, taking a deep sip of coffee and trying to figure out how to explain electricity to someone whose only experience with it is in the form of raw lightning. Of course electricity is terrifying, it can fry through you and stop your heart in seconds, or leave you with permanent injuries and melt off skin or even whole limbs. Lightning strikes are no joke, and the damage they do can certainly leave you in awe of their power. She herself doesn’t even really understand how it works, she knows enough to know that if she plugs her phone in, it charges. If she puts a fork in an electrical outlet, it will kill her. Something about resistance and ohms and circuits floats around in her head from her schooling, but nothing concrete or sure enough to do anything other than make her more confused. “I mean I guess I could pull up a wiki article on the basics and do some transcribing…” 

That’s how Erin spends her early morning, trading messages back and forth with Urzash trying to explain the basics of electricity to them while being peppered with questions about how in the hell any of this could possibly work without killing someone. 

> _ Well, a lot of people have died working with electricity. It’s incredibly dangerous, it’s safer now than it’s ever been but especially in the early days a lot of people died because they didn’t know what they were playing with. _

She completely loses track of time with this conversation and the rabbit hole she’s gone down, and it isn’t until her emergency late alarm goes off that she realizes she hasn’t even started frying the donuts, let alone showered or gotten dressed. Her closing message is slapdash, apologizing but admitting to losing track of time and needing to leave like right now. She feels a little bad about it, but doesn’t have time to dwell on it as she turns on the deep fryer before running to the bathroom to throw some dry shampoo in her hair and brush her teeth. Grad school work, if nothing else, taught her about how to efficiently get through a routine in no time. She’s only ten minutes late pulling into the school and running in with an apology about the donuts taking too long. Mrs. Forrester laughs and waves off her apology as she pulls the foil covered tray from Erin’s hands. “You can be late all you want if you bring me homemade donuts darling.” 

Erin blushes but laughs, pushing down the thoughts of the journal waiting for her back home and the reason she was actually running late this morning. The unused dough sitting back in her fridge would get fried up later for her own donuts, and Mrs. Forrester didn’t need to know the dozen in the tray were only half the amount she had meant to prepare. Breakfast is fun and quiet, the town gossip from Mrs. Forrester is pretty tame all things considered and mostly consisted of particular family rivalries that might rear their heads when it came time for classes to start. “You’ve got to watch out for the Harrisons, by the way. Their eldest daughter, Brianna, has been known to take books out of the library without actually checking them out in order to keep other children from using them, and has started teaching her younger brother Evan to do the same. Their parents put a bit too much pressure on them for their grades and class position, so I understand where that instinct is coming from, but we’re working on teaching them better habits.” 

Erin sighs and snags a second donut from the tray (Mrs. Forrester already halfway through her third) taking a bite from the sugary cinnamon donut before taking a deep drink of coffee. She could get used to this, listening to the older woman chatter on amiably while they drink coffee and eat sweets. It’s bittersweet that Mrs. Forrester is retiring, but hopefully with enough of these early morning coffee dates Erin will be able to convince the older woman to keep meeting up occasionally outside of work. The shrill ringing of the school bell interrupts her train of thought though, and Mrs. Forrester stands before recovering the donuts with foil and putting them in the bottom drawer of her desk with a wink. “Alright darling, duty calls. We’ll have some more of those at lunch, and you absolutely have to give me the recipe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Tumblr under the same name as always! Join my Discord!


End file.
